


Fireside Book Club

by Ponaco



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cute, Friendship, Gen, fangirling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 19:32:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8502616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponaco/pseuds/Ponaco
Summary: Cassandra attempts to read after a long day of fighting in the Emerald Graves but finds she has an unexpected audience





	

“What are you reading?” 

The question startled Cassandra from her distraction of paper and ink. She snapped the book shut out of instinct, a response born of a lifetime of hiding literary works deemed inappropriate or frivolous from the prying eyes of judgmental family members or small-minded Templars. The Inquisitor was neither of those things and the question lacked any hint of the petty accusation or disdain she expected from anyone nosy enough to intrude on her reading. He looked up at her from his place beside the fire, a small smile stretched across his face and earnest curiosity bright in his eyes.

“Is that one of Varric’s?” he asked when she let his first question linger without answer for an amount of time that most would consider rude. 

“No,” she bristled, holding it close to her chest in hopes of hiding the tawdry illustration on the cover. “It…it is a murder mystery by Alise Rutile. She is Orlesian.”

She regretted giving even that brief of a description as his green eyes widen and he inched closer to her place beside the fire. “Sounds exciting,” he said, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Is it any good? I mean, you looked like it was good. I mean, when you were reading your eyebrows kept going up.”

Cassandra pursed her lips and tilted her head, still not entirely convinced he wasn’t making fun of her. She had very little patience for teasing and was poised to put a stop to it as quickly as she was able; by force if necessary. He watched her expectantly, sending the occasional stray spark of fire from his fingertips to join the swirl of flames in the campfire.

“It was good, before I was interrupted,” she said, eyes narrowed and ready to pounce at the first hint of laughter. “I suppose you have something to say about that.”

“Oh, sorry I…I didn’t mean to…bother you,” he said, the smile sliding from his face like water over stones. “Just curious.”

He inched away and turned his gaze back to the fire. Cassandra watched the slump of his shoulders harden and his back tense under the layers of his enchanter’s coat. It was easy for her to forget that there was a person beneath the title of Inquisitor. She was there the day he raised the sword over Skyhold, marveled when he returned from the destruction of Haven, and once again walked through the Fade and back into the world. In her mind that person, the Inquisitor could only be one thing, one must be strong and hardened to life’s cruelties to withstand so many trials and still remain whole. How could she witness those miracles and still see the young man beside her at the campfire, wide-eyes and earnest in his curiosity at even the world’s most simple pleasures.

“You did not bother me,” she said around an annoyed huff that suggested otherwise. “I did not think you would truly care about my silly book.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t care,” he replied, not looking away from the fire.

“Then I apologize for my tone,” Cassandra said, taking in a sharp breath through her nose to swallow her pride. “Most would find it a point of…mocking.”

He turned towards her, the fire catching the faint white of the tattoos beneath his eye; the little triangles and squares glittering in the firelight. “I wasn’t making fun of you,” he insisted and she had no other course but to believe him. “Maybe…maybe you could read some of it aloud.”

“What?” she exclaimed, the question choked around an incredulous laugh. 

His smile returned and she was certain he had used that same boyish tug of his lips to get his way more than once in his life. “Come on, I don’t have anything to read. Varric is already asleep so cards are out of question. What harm could a few pages do?”

“You haven’t read the beginning of the story,” she insisted. 

“So, give me a quick recap. The author is Orlesian, right? I bet there are masks and mistaken identity involved,” he replied.

She scoffed and held the book tighter to her chest, not ready to admit he wasn’t that far off from the truth. “Your knowledge of anything beyond Ostwick is frighteningly simplistic,” she bristled, lifting her chin in attempt to appear superior and worldly.

“There wasn’t much travel allowed outside the Circle walls,” he said, scooting closer to her. “I learned about other places the old fashioned way; through outdated scrolls and wild speculation.”

She huffed a laugh despite her better judgment and silently cursed as he smirked in triumph. “You truly want me to read aloud?” she asked, her eyes narrowed in one final push of suspicion.

“I truly do,” he replied. 

His smirk softened into a warm smile and he sidled up alongside her. She could feel the heat of him emanating in waves that challenged even the warmth of the fire; wondering not for the first time if fire burned constant beneath his skin. He wiggled his feet free of his mud-caked boots and turned to her expectantly. 

“I assume you’ll do all the voices,” he said matter-of-fact.

“Absolutely not,” she snapped, not bothering to hide her next smile at his chuckle in reply. 

“All right, all right, no voices. Unless, you know, you feel inspired,” he said. He moved closer and watched her open the book onto her lap. “So, what have I missed so far?”

Cassandra ran her thumb over the worn leather of the spine. A spark of something resembling excitement fluttered in her chest. The opportunity to discuss one of her books was not something that arose often. She wanted to jump at the chance to analyze every detail, to discuss in-depth every twist and turn of the story and nuance of her favorite characters. She took a deep breath, hoping it would distract her from the momentary lapse in judgement that needled at her thoughts.

“Well, Lady Victoria Delcroix found the Countess murdered at her own masquerade,” Cassandra said, pausing to judge his reaction. The slight, worried raise of his eyebrows was enough encouragement to make her continue. “And her fellow Bard Edward Perrin has been accused. She must clear his name and find the true killer.”

“A masquerade, huh?” he mused, tapping his chin in thought before a smirk spread across his lips. “So, masks are involved.”

“If you would rather not hear the story,” she threatened. A small twinge of triumph fluttered in her chest as he crumbled in an instant.

“No, no I want to hear the story,” he insisted. He grinned and lowered his voice, as though the characters in the book might be listening in. “Who do you think the real murderer is?”

Cassandra smiled. It felt odd and out of place after a day of fighting, the gore of battle still clinging to their boots and discarded armor. It was a rare thing to find a moment of honest happiness these days and she was not about to deny herself the luxury for something so trivial as her fear of being mocked. 

“Duke Marchade of course,” she replied in the same hushed whisper. “He is Edward’s romantic rival for the Lady Julianne and he has the most dastardly moustache. That is always a dead giveaway.”

“Hey, I happen to like a nice moustache,” Rawley said around a chuckle that only made Cassandra’s smile brighten. “It could be red herring.”

“It could indeed,” she said, smoothing out the page towards the light of the fire. “Shall we read on and find out?”


End file.
